


Every Fortress Falls

by camshaft22, thedarlingone (Curuchamion)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Trauma, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Torture, Threats, Whump, Wingmates, no actual eye trauma occurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camshaft22/pseuds/camshaft22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone
Summary: After a week in an Imperial cell, Wes is beaten and hurting. Will he be rescued?
Relationships: Wes Janson & Derek "Hobbie" Klivian
Kudos: 14





	Every Fortress Falls

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but my co-author owns their car. Star Wars belongs to Disney and all assorted people. Thank you to the usual suspects!
> 
> Warnings: There is some eye squick. Nothing actually happens but just so you're aware.

Wes shifted uncomfortably on the thin straw-filled cushion that served his grimy cell for a mattress. He felt like his shoulder and hipbone were poking straight through into the stone floor, and he was pretty sure he was going to bruise.

Not that it mattered. He had plenty of other bruises already. A lump near his hairline, a split lip, a cut across his left bicep that had kept pulling open to bleed again until he'd managed to rip up his undershirt and bandage it clumsily. The Imperials running this remote outpost were no fools; they left his binders on at all times. He could feed himself and use the makeshift fresher in the corner, but bandaging his arm had taken him nearly an hour with the aid of gravity, teeth, and a whole lot of cursing.

Wes rolled onto his back, which wasn't any more comfortable but at least had the advantage of putting his weight on different bruises, and scowled at the ceiling. He'd been in here for… way too long. A week, maybe? Too kriffing long. Hobbie should have rescued him way before this.

Hobbie hadn't been shot down. That much, Wes was sure of. Which meant there were two possibilities. Either he'd gone back to the Rebellion's distant main base to organize a proper rescue, and it was just taking him some time, or…

Wes squeezed his eyes shut and flipped onto his other side, his back to the grating of bars that formed one wall of his cell. His bandaged arm landed under him, and he bit back a yelp, but at least the pain was a distraction. He wasn't going to think about what else might have happened to Hobbie, trying to rescue him all alone. He dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

The Imperial soldiers made a lot of noise coming down the corridor. Wes sighed softly. The first few days, he'd tried to fight, but it hadn't really helped, and he was tired.

The magnetic lock unsealed with a clang. The soldiers rushed him in a group, dragging him to his feet and out of the cell. Wes stumbled along, half tripping over his own bare feet, held upright more by the hands on his arms than by his own willpower. He scowled at the ground, trying not to stub his toes on any irregularities in the floor.

It wasn't far to the interrogation room. Just as they'd done every day, Wes's captors shoved his back against one of the walls and held him there. A tall soldier wrenched his arms upward. A magnetic plate set into the wall over his head activated, snapping Wes's binders to it with another clang; it was made to hold taller prisoners, and pulled him almost up on tiptoe. Another soldier kicked his feet apart. Wes felt his ankle binders snap to other plates, holding him uncomfortably spread-eagled. Most of his weight was still on his feet, but his shoulders were already starting to cramp.

The lead interrogator, a tall pale man with a sardonic square face and wavy brown hair, sneered at Wes for a moment, then slapped him across the face almost casually. "You'll be out of here soon, Rebel scum," he said. "You're getting a one-way ticket to Imperial Center, courtesy of our guest. Assuming you really are that Janson guy from the wanted poster."

Wes's heart sank. Here on the planet where he'd been shot down, he could still hope for a rescue. Once he was on the Imperial capital, or in one of the prison camps so many other Rebels had already died in, he'd be completely cut off.

Damn it, though, this part was still fun. As exhausted as he was, and as battered, and as locked-down trying not to worry… baiting Imps would never not be fun. "Guest?" he asked lightly. "I didn't know we were having company. Do I get a bath?"

The interrogator punched him hard in the stomach. Wes tensed against the blow just in time. "No," the interrogator said. "You get softened up before he arrives." 

"Better get on with it, then," Wes said with his best approximation of a mischievous grin. He felt muzzy-headed enough from lack of sleep that he wasn't entirely certain his face was doing what he meant it to anymore. "You haven't made much progress so far."

The interrogator shrugged and stepped back. One of the other soldiers stepped up and backhanded Wes across the other side of his face, for variety. "You'll be singing soon enough," he growled. 

The lead interrogator's comlink chirped, and he answered it. Wes missed hearing what he said, because the second soldier chose that moment to stomp on Wes's bare toes with one booted foot.

Wes yelped aloud, as much startled and outraged as in pain. It hurt, sure -- he didn't think anything was broken, but it hurt like hell -- but it was also ridiculous. He didn't really know how to react.

"Our guest has arrived," the lead interrogator said smugly. "Captain Byers, from Intelligence. Perhaps he'll be so kind as to demonstrate a few of their… special techniques on you before we hand you over."

Wes's gut went cold. A real Intelligence torturer? He could stand up to these bullies well enough, but facing a professional -- Wes was all too aware of his own limits. He didn't have Wedge's endless moral rectitude or Tycho's strength of character. He'd break. Maybe not right away, but he'd break. And then they'd kill him, and then they'd use his information to kill his friends. Or they'd keep him alive, until they'd taken everything he could give them, and then they'd turn him into a brainwashed assassin.

Wes didn't let any of his fears show on his face. "If he waits for you to learn anything he'll be here until I die of old age," he retorted cheerfully.

"I think it's cute you believe you'll live that long, rebel," Byers said as he entered the room. They all saluted him and he nodded, stopping to stand before Wes. "Is this what's given you so much trouble?"

"I'm good at giving people trouble," Wes said automatically, hoping he looked appropriately terrified, or at least worried or something. Hobbie? What the kriff was Hobbie doing here?

Pretending to be an Imperial interrogator, obviously, he answered himself, because his internal monologue was just as much of a smartass as the rest of him. A better question was how Hobbie was posing as an Imp torture-master, but Wes didn't have an answer to that either.

Although, well, he wasn't complaining. One, because he was going to be rescued (hopefully, as long as nobody blew their cover), but two, because Hobbie looked really good in his well-tailored uniform. As long as this was happening anyway, Wes might as well enjoy the view.

Hobbie gave him an unimpressed look. "It does appear so." He cupped Wes's chin and turned his head a bit, looking him over. "This is most definitely Wes Janson. You've really caught a famous member of the Alliance."

Down, boy, Wes told himself. Hobbie, or Captain Byers, was wearing really nice leather gloves. The way they rasped against the week's worth of stubble on Wes's jaw was very… distracting. "Congratulations," Wes said dryly.

Hobbie considered him for a moment then he slapped him. "Take him down. We'll be going to my ship immediately."

One of the Imperial soldiers cleared his throat. Hobbie whirled and glowered at him. "What is it?" he asked in a voice like a steel blade.

The lead interrogator didn't cower back, though most of the others did, slightly. "My men were hoping to see the show," he said steadily. "We've captured you a famous Rebel, perhaps you'd demonstrate a few techniques on him."

Hobbie frowned. "It's hardly a show for your entertainment." 

"Of course not," the Commander said from the back of the room. "But we've never actually seen Intelligence work. A little about what you're taught might be good."

"Ah. Well, who would I be to deny a little interdepartmental cooperation?" Hobbie said, his voice cool. 

Wes kept his mouth shut. Nothing he could say at this point would help. All he could do was trust that Hobbie had some sort of plan up his elegantly tailored sleeve.

Hobbie turned back to look at Wes. "Well, scum. I suppose it's just me and you," he said with no emotion. "Where is the location of your rebel fleet?"

Well, he could do this. He'd been doing this for a week. "Up your ass," he said defiantly, tilting his head back to glare at Hobbie with all the anger and hatred he could muster.

Hobbie shook his head. "Yes, well, an interesting response. Do you see this, rebel?" he asked while he pulled an inactivated vibroblade out. "I'm sure you know its purpose."

Wes gave the vibroblade a suspicious look. "Well, it's not big enough to be compensating for anything," he said, then raised his eyebrows in mock concern. "Is it?"

"Childish at best, I see," he said, then started tapping the knife against Wes's cheek. "Did you know that there are 1.7 million nerve endings in the human eye? I'm told it's excruciating to have one…" He trailed the tip of the blade along Wes's eyebrow. "...removed. And I imagine that would also make your sharpshooter skills less than adequate, wouldn't you say?"

Wes squinched his eyes shut, clenching his fists over his head. Kriff you, Hobbie. His wingman knew every one of his worst fears. Hobbie had to be using this to get a realistic reaction out of him. Well, it was working. "They make prosthetics," he said, hating the raw fear that filled his voice.

"That they do," Hobbie said idly. "But we both know those are the most likely to fail after implantation." The knife was withdrawn, and Wes felt a leather-gloved palm against his forehead. A thumb pulled up one eyelid, and he flinched away, blinking his eyes open reflexively. 

Hobbie gripped Wes's hair and showed him the vibroblade, point uppermost, holding it within a handspan of his face so that his eyes crossed looking at it. "Do you want to risk it, Rebel?" he almost purred. "Having your eyes diminished? Your shooting ability cut in half? Your usefulness--" He clicked his tongue and shook his head slightly. "Gone. Or, do you want to tell me everything you know?" He trailed his gloved left hand down the side of Wes's face in a mockery of a caress.

Wes wanted to babble out everything he knew, beg to be spared, but the real Imperials were right there listening in. If he betrayed the Rebellion for real when Hobbie was only pretending to torture him… Wes set his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut again, bowing his head, fighting the very real panic that filled his chest. He could feel tears clinging to his eyelashes, beginning to trickle down his face. "Do your worst," he choked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Very well," Hobbie said, putting the knife away. "Take him to my ship and bring whatever he had with him. This will take just a few more pushes and I want him in my custody first."

The respect was instant. Soldiers clustered around Wes again, some pinning his arms while others freed his binders from the magnetic anchors. He was shaking, trying to stand upright. The rough hands holding him seemed distant, irrelevant. Then he was moving, being rushed along the halls, trying to keep his feet under him. He tried to blink away the tears, but more kept flowing.

Finally they reached their destination. Wes was pushed onto a seat. He sat there, hunched, not moving, wiping uselessly at his eyes with his still-cuffed hands. He was barely aware that the rough grip on his arms was gone. He just couldn't stop his silent weeping.

***

Hobbie lifted off, knowing he needed to get them to lightspeed before he could relax. He got them out of atmosphere and took off into space before jumping. Once they were on their way, he put on the autopilot and grabbed the med kit he had scrounged up. He paused in the doorway of the cockpit, seeing Wes silently weeping. He glanced at himself and immediately pulled off the tunic and gloves, placing the med kit on the floor. Hobbie threw his jacket on the floor and approached, making noise as to not startle him. 

"Wes. It's me. You're free now. We're going to take care of you. Make you feel better." 

Wes looked up, tears still flowing silently, and wordlessly held out his wrists, still in the binder cuffs.

Hobbie undid the binders, seeing the caked on dirt, grime and what appeared to be blood. "I'm going to clean your wrists and your other wounds. It will hurt. But once you're a bit cleaner, we can start treatment." 

Wes nodded, huddled into himself a little bit, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his arms. He was still shirtless; he must be cold. Hobbie had only seen Wes nonverbal once or twice before, when he’d been pushed so far past his physical and psychological limits that he simply began shutting down. At least he could still communicate?

"It's going to be alright," Hobbie told him. "I'm going to get you a blanket then clean you up." He said and grabbed a blanket to wrap around him. "May I have your wrists?" 

Wes pulled the blanket tightly around his shoulders and offered Hobbie one wrist, chafed and grubby from the binder cuffs. He was still crying, maybe a little bit less now, but he gave Hobbie a trusting look.

Hobbie started cleaning the dirt and grime, moving up his arm. Once he was finished, Hobbie put bacta gel on the injuries. "May I have the other?" 

Wes handed Hobbie his other wrist. He was starting to sniffle and blink away tears instead of simply crying silently. That was probably a good sign, right?

"It's ok, Wes. You're safe. Would you like something to wipe your face?" Hobbie asked and started cleaning his wrist and arm. He slathered bacta gel on his wounds, waiting for a nod or statement. 

Wes nodded firmly in answer and sniffled again. Hobbie gently wiped his face and held the cloth over his nose in case he needed to blow. 

Wes blew his nose a couple of times, loudly. He seemed a little happier and more comfortable being taken care of this way. He looked up at Hobbie with big pleading eyes and patted his stomach.

“Of course. One moment,” Hobbie told him. He stood, walking away a moment. Hobbie grabbed a ration pack with a bottle of water and opened them, returning to where he was sitting. He held it out to him. “Take your time. Drink some water first then eat.” 

Wes took a drink and began nibbling experimentally at the ration bar. He’d almost completely stopped crying. He pushed the blanket off his left shoulder and offered Hobbie his left bicep, badly wrapped in the remains of a grubby and bloodstained undershirt. Hobbie could see without even removing the dirty fabric that there was infection underneath. The skin looked red and inflamed, and the cloth seemed to be cutting into it in places where there was swelling.

Hobbie started peeling the undershirt off, be gentle and trying not to pull at it. He got it removed and washed the wound, seeing the pus and swelling. It was going to be very nasty. He washed it gently, then spread bacta gel on it immediately. “Where else?” 

Wes frowned thoughtfully for a couple of seconds, then pointed at his forehead, where a streak of blood ran down from under a clump of matted hair. Hobbie nodded and gently wiped the area, getting his hair wet to get it out of the way then started cleaning the wound, putting bacta on it to seal it. 

“I can see the split lip and the various other bruises. Is there anything else?” 

Wes shook his head and pulled the blanket back around him, then patted the bench seat next to him. 

Hobbie took a seat and gently pulled him close. “Rest. We’ll be back soon.” 

Wes rested his head on Hobbie’s shoulder, and his breathing went soft and quiet as sleep claimed him.

Hobbie sighed very softly, holding him. He didn’t have to immediately move.

***

It had been a few cycles since they had returned. Wes had immediately been taken to medical while Hobbie was debriefed. He explained the situation and what happened as far as he knew. Wedge had gone with Luke to retrieve his X-wing, after they both chewed him out for not getting backup. They thanked him for getting Wes home after but they were pissed. He expected to be in the hot seat for awhile. Hobbie understood that. But he couldn’t have risked it. It was all tangled up and he didn’t know just how he had gotten to this point. All he wanted to do was make things better in the galaxy and to make Wes smile. But he didn’t really think he was worthy of Wes. Wes deserved someone that was… well, worthwhile. Hobbie just wasn’t that. 

Still, he found himself hovering by the bacta tank that Wes floated in, asleep. How many times had the situation been reversed? Too many. Hobbie watched as he floated, feeling like he had betrayed his trust. He had betrayed his trust. Wes deserved better than him as a friend because he didn’t actually feel sorry. It was the best plan at the moment. But he had betrayed him. Hobbie wondered if he had used up Wes’s immense goodwill with this. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you your face will get stuck like that?" Tycho teased gently, coming up beside Hobbie.

“Who would notice?” Hobbie said. “I have two expressions. Frowning and livid.” 

Tycho snorted. "Don't underestimate yourself. Sometimes you look tired."

“That’s more often than not,” Hobbie told him. “Did you come to yell at me?” 

Tycho shook his head. "I think Wedge and Luke about covered that," he joked. Then a little more seriously, "I actually came to see how you're holding up. I'm glad you brought him back to us, but frankly, you look like hell. Was it bad?"

Hobbie shook his head in agreement. He glanced up to look at Tycho. “I had to mentally torture him,” he explained quietly. “I made him break down into tears.” 

Tycho nodded, listening, not judging. "That's rough," he said simply.

“He trusted me… and I used that trust. The things he's told me in confidence, I used like tools, Tych,” Hobbie said. “I made them believe I was an intel agent… and I betrayed his secrets.” 

"To save his life," Tycho pointed out gently.

“Yes,” Hobbie told him. “To save his life. I’m not sorry about that. But I don’t know if he’ll want me at his back anymore.” 

Tycho shrugged. "I mean, that's his decision. I suspect he'll be fine with it. You did bring him home, after all." He gave Hobbie a dubious look. "This is going to come out wrong, but... is there something you're not telling me? I mean, from what you're saying, you dressed up as an Imperial, you said something that made him cry, and you brought him home. Wes isn't the kind of guy who gets his pride mortally hurt by being made to cry, even in front of Imperials. I've seen him cry at weddings and sad holofilms." He frowned, running his fingers through his hair. "Forgive me for being nosy, but you're acting like whatever you did to him was a whole lot worse than that."

“Wes has fears that he confided in me. I used that against him,” Hobbie told him. “I may be overthinking it but… It wasn’t an act. It wasn’t to fool them. I saw his fear.” 

"You broke him for real and you're worried you went too far?" Tycho asked, confirming.

Hobbie nodded. “I did it to save him but you can be grateful and not want to have someone like that as your wingmate. If it comes to that, I’ll transfer. You need him.” 

Tycho reached out, offering Hobbie a hug. "We need both of you. You're one of the best wing pairs in the service. It'd be a shame to split you two up. It's his call, obviously, but I... I hope he understands why you did what you did."

Hobbie hugged him. “I think he will but… when do I use up his goodwill, Tycho?” 

Tycho held him tight. "Oh, Hobbie, Hobbie," he said, petting Hobbie's hair. "Oh, Derek. It's not like that at all." He patted Hobbie's back. "Wes cares for you. It's not a finite resource. You could treat him like dirt for the rest of both your lives, and I don't think he'd ever choose to reject you. Wedge and I might eventually haul the two of you apart if something like that happened, but..." He sighed, holding Hobbie tight. "Those of us Wes trusts and loves have a great gift. I don't think I've ever met anyone with a more unending, infinite supply of goodwill and forgiveness for those he chooses to care for. I know..." He ruffled Hobbie's hair again, thinking. "I understand why you're so worried that you could lose that. It is a thing one can lose, and it's cataclysmic. It nearly destroys him. But I don't think I've ever known anyone to lose that love without first rejecting it. Someone who still cares what Wes thinks of them?" He squeezed Hobbie tight again. "I think you'll be fine."

Hobbie buried his face into Tycho’s shoulder. “It doesn’t feel that way,” he admitted. “But I hope you’re right.” 

***

When Wes finally got out of bacta, there were all sorts of medical tests, and everyone wanted to hug him and welcome him home. It felt like hours to Hobbie before they could finally talk not surrounded by a crowd. He was afraid he would lose his friendship but he needed… he wanted to let Wes decide. Hobbie didn't know how to bring it up without sounding pathetic. He looked at Wes, seeing how the injuries had healed and knowing that while they were physically healed, he might not be past everything yet. "What do you need from me?" Hobbie asked gently. 

Wes looked up at him, tense, nervous. Hobbie could see the awkward stiffness in his big shoulders. "I need cuddles," he said softly. "Hold me, Hobbie. Snuggle me and keep me safe and tell me that wasn't you. That you'd never truly..." He squinched his eyes shut again, and Hobbie could see the terror flicker over his face for a second. "...do that to me. That you didn't want to."

Ah. It wasn't fear of Hobbie that was making Wes brace himself like a cornered animal, or not mainly. It was fear of rejection. Wes wasn't holding himself back from fleeing in fear, he was holding back from throwing himself into Hobbie's arms. It was subtle, but Hobbie could see it now, in the angle and set of his shoulders. He must not know if Hobbie still liked or respected him after seeing how easily he could be broken.

"Absolutely," Hobbie said. "We should lie down," he suggested. They laid down together and Hobbie pulled him into his arms. "It's ok. I would never hurt you. You're safe. It's ok." 

Wes snuggled up against Hobbie, still tense and awkward-feeling in Hobbie's arms, but holding him close and burying his face in Hobbie's chest. "I broke," he murmured after a few moments, almost inaudible.

"Only because of me," Hobbie assured him. "This is my fault." 

Wes shook his head vigorously, his curls brushing Hobbie's chin. "No. It was me. I got shot down, I couldn't escape, I broke. Tycho wouldn't have broken. Wedge wouldn't."

Hobbie exhaled softly. "You don't know that. You broke because I made you. You withstood everything they did to you. I broke you, not them. And they didn't get a thing out of you. I get shot down all the time. Why am I exempt from feeling bad?" 

Wes started crying again, softly, trembling with tiny sobs. "I would have broken. If it hadn't been you. If it had been a real Intel torturer... I would have broken in a heartbeat. I would have betrayed you all. I'm not fit to serve. I'm not brave enough." His body jerked, in a sob almost like a hiccup, and he clung to Hobbie tightly.

"No," Hobbie said firmly. "Listen to me. You're the bravest person I know. This isn't on you. We all can break. Everyone has a breaking point. You can't blame yourself for something that didn't even happen."

Wes huddled against him, still crying softly. “But if I did. If it happens for real. I break and people d-d-die because I’m...” His voice trailed off. “What then? I can’t—I can’t—I’m just Janson the traitor. After everything. You know I would be...” A small wail of distress broke his voice for a moment and he burrowed against Hobbie again, shaking.

"Being tortured isn't betrayal. Betrayal is giving us up and laughing," Hobbie told him. "You wouldn’t do that. We'd all break, Wes," he soothed. "You're not betraying us." 

Wes sniffled quietly. “If I came back. If I escaped. You wouldn’t... would you...” His arms tightened around Hobbie’s waist. “Could anyone not hate me?”

"Because I know you," Hobbie said simply. "I know how hard you'd fight. How much it'd take. I know you." 

Wes curled impossibly closer to Hobbie and simply clung to him. Hobbie held him, rubbing his back, and listened while Wes’s breathing slowly calmed and softened into sleep.

***

Wes woke up slowly. Hobbie was cuddled next to him, bony and unpadded as ever. Wes stretched, trying to figure out why he felt so wrung out.

Of course. He'd broken. And Hobbie said it didn't matter. Wes still felt defensive, scared that the others wouldn't feel the same way, or that Hobbie would change his mind. Worried that he should be turning himself in, resigning, admitting his failure. Part of him realized that was irrational, he'd done nothing wrong, but... what about next time? What if he did? He couldn't bear to betray his friends.

Hobbie stirred beside him. "Quit worrying. It's too kriffing early. Plus Wedge and Luke are going to be bitches when I go on duty." 

Wes chuckled. Hobbie could read him too well. "What if I do break sometime, though?" he asked. "What if I get you hurt or killed? Wouldn't you hate me then?"

"No. Because you'd do everything you could not to. Everyone breaks. Just try to lie or something," Hobbie told him, pressing his face into Wes's shoulder. 

Wes sighed. "Not everyone. Wedge wouldn't. Neither would Tycho."

"You don't know that," Hobbie said. "They might. Besides, they'd understand."

Wes rolled over on his back and sighed. "I guess all I can do is go on."

"That's true," Hobbie told him. "Now shut up. You're fine and it took me using your worst fear against you." 

"All right," Wes said, curling up against Hobbie's side again. "As long as you're with me."

"Of course," Hobbie told him. "Always." 

FIN


End file.
